We are moths to the flame
by The Infamous Fly
Summary: A collection of shorts about the characters. Will be updated irregularly and has a lot of my headcanon. Ratings will vary from T to M.
1. Mockery

**Mockery**

* * *

 **Characters: Jester, Grave Robber, Bounty Hunter, Occultist.**

 **Rating: T**

* * *

Sitting around a campfire, deep in the warrens of the Estate, whose name had become a forbidden word, sat a bounty hunter, an occultist, a grave robber, and a jester. The jester leaped to his feet and began drawing his hand across his mask, trying to figure out where to start his joke.

Ellyn had challenged him to mock their fellow enforcers and Percy was not one to turn down a challenge. Not that it would be a challenge to share what he really thought about his fellow mercenaries.

"I'm Reynauld! I'm the hero you all need! Everyone follow me towards death!" Percy yelled, mimicking Reynauld's deep, imposing voice.

Ellyn brought a hand to her face to hide her giggling. Alhazred peeked up from his dark incantations and smiled. Tardif continued to poke the fire, the ever-stoic body hunter.

"No, I'm Dismas and I'm dark and brooding. I'm only in it for the money, but I am desperately trying to atone for something! NONE OF YOU ASK ME ABOUT IT!" Percy continued, now standing just like the absent highwayman, and using a surly, angry-at-the-world voice.

Ellyn howled with laughter. Tardif let out an amused huff, while Alhazred chortled despite himself.

"Listen to Reynauld! I'm Junia, and I do whatever Reynauld tells me to, because I want to be a good little nun and because I'm secretly hoping he'll take off this chastity belt and let me have it!" Percy continued kicking the gag up a notch and strutting about with his hands on his hips. He ridiculed the vestal with a high pitched, pompous voice that transformed into a giggling teenage girl.

Ellyn was now shrieking with laughter and struggling to keep herself up. Alhazred was staring at the skull in his lap, while Tardif wasn't moving a muscle. Percy wasn't paying attention to his audience any longer (which was the first rule of stage business), instead, he was circling the fire, continuing his charade.

"NO! I'm Sybil, and I agree with Dismas. I am too smart to let myself be killed! I'm important! The rest of you could die, but I need to live so that I can change the world. Then the people who discredited my work and called me a madwoman will finally appreciate me! They'll see! They'll all see! HAHAHAHA!" Percy stated, now moving like a chicken to mock the plague doctor.

Tardif finally spoke. His voice escaped his helmet as an echoing hiss. It broke Ellyn's dying laughter and caused Alhazred to turn away from them all, knowing full well where this was going.

"How about yourself?"

The hiss was smug and demanding. Percy had once entertained a lord who liked to throw things at him when Percy failed to entertain. Tardif wasn't going to lob his rations at Percy, but if Percy did not do as commanded, then he would prove how weak he was.

On the other hand, if Percy mocked himself, Tardif might finally laugh. There was no triumphant option.

Percy stared at the bounty hunter for a long moment, with Tardif's gaze unmoving. They had a half-human in their company of heroes, but out of all of them, Tardif was the least human. Percy had expected he would enjoy the harsh jokes at the expense of their friend's dysfunctions the most.

Ellyn and Alhazred were anticipating his reaction. _Well, the show must go on._ He supposed.

Percy took off his mask, revealing his short, dirty red hair and mismatched colored eyes and tossed it to the ground. It clattered against the dirty stone.

He cupped his eyes with his gloved hands and did a little dance. His voice became that of a petulant child. "My name is Percy, I make jokes to hide my deep insecurities and I've joined this mission so that I can cut myself a slice of the glory cake and do something other than debase myself for others before I die! If I don't get any attention, I'll probably kill myself! Yippee!"

He stopped and returned his mask to its place. Then he picked up his rations and ate them as his fellow party members watched him with greater discomfort than anticipated. Tardif wasn't the least bit worried, just surprised, but Alhazred's face was the bleakest thing Percy had ever seen. Ellyn was watching him with dead, green eyes.

There was no more laughter. Only the distant squealing of malformed pig flesh.


	2. And the winner is Pt 1

**And the winner is…Part 1**

* * *

 **Rating: T**

 **Characters: Hellion, Abomination, Highwayman, Jester, Grave Robber, Bounty Hunter Houndmaster, Man-At-Arms, Arbalest, and Leper.**

Ashka glared at her opponent, showing off her teeth and whipping the hair out of her face. Her berserker instincts kicked in as Barristan glared back with his one eye.

Mortimer put his dog whistle to his mouth and signaled that the round had begun. Ashka grabbed her mug and chugged her fifth drink that night. The bartender, who stood beside the table, ready to refill the mugs when the round had ended, just shook his head at the sight of them.

Ashka didn't care. She was not going to lose to the old man. They were driving up business for him, anyway.

Mortimer, his hound, Ellyn, Dismas, Gavin, Keyla, Percy, and Tardif were all gathered around, either cheering or watching because they had nothing better to do. Reynauld, Junia, Alhazred, and Zyra were on a mission, and as such, they had all been sitting around, bored rigid. But beyond them, half of The Hamlet had turned out to see who could consume more alcohol. Ashka didn't consider her actions ever heroic, but she was proud of being able to bring joy to their lives.

Ashka finished her mug and threw it back on the table, watching with a smile as Barristan finished his own with less gusto.

Mortimer glanced at Barrister, ever the careful lawman. His expression said it all, but the veteran refused to back down. He shook his head and leaned forward.

"You're going to wish you'd never been born when we're done here, missy." He stated as she chuckled.

Ashka's eyes glinted and she leaned forward, putting her hands on the table. "Let us see you put your money where your mouth is." She stated.

Barrister's eye twitched and he reached into his pocket, removing a dozen coins and spilling them onto the pile that both had already contributed to.

Mortimer waited until both mugs were re-filled and whistled again. Anna, his hound, whimpered at his leg while Barrister and Ashka grabbed their mugs.

Barrister got halfway through his drink before he accidentally dropped the mug. The beer spilled across the table, wetting the pile of coins, as Keyla ran over to stop Barrister from falling over.

The arbelst through one of his arms over the shoulder of her armor and spoke in a calming voice. "Let us get you to your room, eh?"

Barrister shook his head but did not fight her as she brought him toward the stairs. Some complained and yelled insults at Barrister, but Ashka remained silent. She could tell from Keyla's expression that she was afraid. She treated the old man like a father, and Ashka knew what it felt like to watch a fellow soldier fail.

She gave her fellow mercenaries a daring smile. "Anybody else wanna try?"

"I am unsure we should have any more drinking competitions..." Mortimer stated in the most diplomatic way possible.

"How about an arm-wrestling competition?" Ashka asked, not yet ready to retire.

The remaining townsfolk cheered and, after glancing around, Dismas stepped forward. "I get all that if I win?" He asked through his scarf, his eyes locked on the prize. His voice was unsteady.

Ashka smirked and nodded.

Everyone knew that he was unable to stop himself when it came to betting of any kind.

He sat down and offered his hand. Ashka took it with her own, discovering how callous and dirty his palms were. She grinned and he tensed.

Mortimer blew his whistle with great reluctance, and the struggling began. Dismas put up a decent fight, but he wasn't of a muscular build. He let out a pained grunt when she slammed his hand down on the tabletop.

"Add to the pot," Ashka ordered, still holding his hand tightly.

Dismas did as commanded and she let go, allowing him to stand and nurse his arm as he sulked off.

Mortimer shrugged and dropped some money in the pot. His grip was alright, but he didn't last much longer than Ashka.

Tardif sat down across from her, surprising her. He seemed the most reluctant to engage in fun activities. He threw a pouch of gold into the pot and offered his gloved hand. Ashka sized him up, before taking his hand. He was stronger than Dismas, with a stockier build and greater will. He used a hook to pull people into reach, after all, and had likely carried people kicking and screaming to their imprisonment/execution.

He didn't make a noise until she defeated, him. All he said was "Hmmph", before standing and walking out the door of the tavern.

Ashka turned her eyes to Percy and Ellyn. "Anyone else?"

They both moved away.

"No thanks, but congratulations," Ellyn said with a smile.

"Nope, but I would be happy to sing your praises." Percy offered.

Ashka turned her eyes to Gavin, and his smile disappeared. "How about you?"

He gave an uneasy smile. "I'm not that strong."

"Not your weaker half," She stated, before ordering another drink from the tavern keeper.

Gavin shook his head. "That is not a good ide-"

Dismas fixed him with a glare. "Are you going to be a real man, or are you going to hide behind those chains like you always do?"

Mortimer glared at Dismas. "I think that is enough, for one night…"

"If you don't want to bet, Lawman, then go play with your pooch instead." Dismas sneered without glancing at him. "Let us have some fun."

Ellyn smirked, and leaned on Dismas, her legs wobbly from inebriation. Mortimer glanced at Percy, and when the jester said nothing he turned away.

"Come Anna." He called, as he walked out of the tavern, mumbling to himself about crooks and cowards.

He choked and glanced back at Ashka. She realized, only now that she looked him in the eye, that he was the only one among them who happened to be sober.

"Let us test our mettle. I want to see what you're really made of." She challenged.

His expression hardened. "Fine. But if I win," He turned to face Dismas. "You have to make Reynauld apologize for the way that he's treated me!"

Dismas snorted. "Sure thing, buddy."

"Not in here." The tavern keeper stated, firmly. "I'm not going to have that unholy thing, fighting in my bar."

Ashka stood up, towering over the shabby man. "Fine. Anyone with guts, follow us into the woods…" She smiled, drunkenly, as she shoved all the gold collected so far, into a sack. "…you are going to see the show of your lifetimes."

 **[0]**

A thousand glorious birds, turning over an infinite ocean of brightness. The trees plucked stars out of the sky, while the god of worms bubbled humorously. Wind blurred leaves into the light of a dozen suns, boiling towards hideous desecration.

Ballwin stared at the night sky, his mind conjuring a thousand beautifies from exposure to air. He was unable to do this, take off his mask and bask in his own imagination, except when everyone else was busy and The Heir hadn't sent him to drink or pray. He had to be careful, or a child from the village might stumble onto him and be traumatized.

Voices. Obnoxious, drunken voices, nearby. Ballwin scrambled to find his mask, but his hallucinations and poor vision made it near impossible. He had just tossed aside multiple rocks, his breathing growing desperate when he made out the voice of the Abomination who The Heir had welcomed to their ranks.

He was threatening someone, telling them that it was better for them to give up, now. Ballwin turned in the direction of the voice. The godless heathen laughed at the Abomination's threat, stating that they would "See about that."

He grabbed his sword, not all completely sane with his vision still blurring with lights and shadows.

"3…" Called Ellyn, giggling. Ballwin got to his feet, realizing what the idiots were about to unleash. He should have never left them be, he should have known better.

"2…"

He dove toward, pushing his way through brambles and swinging his sword to make short work of the small tree that stood in his way. It fell, and he continued, his lungs burning. He was not used to moving this fast; it made the pain which he constantly felt, a thousand times worse.

"1!"

A terrifying roar, filled the forest around The Hamlet, as all hell, broke loose.


	3. And the winner is Pt 2

**And the winner is…part 2**

 **Characters** : _Hellion, Abomination, Highwayman, Jester, Grave Robber, and Leper._

* * *

Gavin's roar resounded through the bones of the townsfolk surrounding him. His veins turned green-yellow and disgustingly popped as his flesh turned reddish-brown. His teeth grew black and large, and the cursed chains which wrapped around him snapped. The metal bits flung at the people around him, forcing many to duck for cover or stagger away. Horns extended out of his skull, and his eyes retreated into the bowels of his skull.

Ashka smiled and offered her hand, placing her elbow on the rock. The abomination snarled and bent to do likewise. Its skin resembled sandpaper but was wet. As soon as their hands touched, it began forcing her arm downwards. She groaned at discovering how much stronger he was than her but fought back all the same.

Enraged, he slammed her arm down in a quick movement, and there was a crack as the barbarian's arm broke. She let out a howl of pain and the abomination laughed. Dismas pushed their arms apart and faced the monster. "Stop it, you've won!"

The monster snarled at the tiny human which had come between it and its prey. It grabbed Dismas by his scarf and lifted him off the ground.

"To hades with you, murderer." The Abomination said, in a voice like the tumbling of volcanic ash.

His eyes widened as The Abomination threw him towards the nearest bush and turned back on Ashka. The tiny humans from the doomed village were now running. Good. They weren't apart of this.

Percy leaped on top of The Abomination, pulling his lute against the monster's neck. It roared and swung back and forth, clawing at him with its black nails.

"You need to calm down!" He shouted as he held on for dear life.

The monster roared and flung its head forward, sending Percy cartwheeling across the ground and coming to a stop next to Ashka, who was crawling toward her spear. Percy charged back at the monster and raised his sickle.

"I'm sorry about this Gavin," He said as he slashed his blade across The Abomination's side. The pain didn't sober the man beneath the monster, however, it just enraged his fuse mind.

He swung out, missing Percy but tearing part of his costume. Ellyn leaped in front stunning The Abomination with a quick jump forwards, then back. Dazed and confused, the monster began to lose control and Gavin's sanity began to return.

"I SHALL BE YOUR END, DEMON!"

A huge sword, slammed across the monster's left side, tearing through the blackened flesh. The Abomination roared louder than ever and turned to the exiled king. He wasn't wearing his mask. How dare he. By the end of this venture, he would be a walking corpse, Gavin would not.

How dare he.

It shrieked as it charged, pushing him over, and into a thorn bush. It swung twice, its claws tearing across the tender flesh of his face.

It reveled in his pain, grabbing his silly weapon and tossing it to the side. It snarled and turned in time to grab Percy by the neck. The wiry jester kicked and struggled, and only as The Abomination raised him off the ground, to face it, did his predicament dawn on him.

"Disgrace talks too much." The Abomination stated before slamming its iron skull into his face. His mask shattered, and his nose broke, spraying blood across his lips. The Abomination released the scruff of his costume, dropping him in the mud.

It noticed Ellyn, trying to drag its prey away from it. It roared and tore after her. One backhand and she was flying into a tree. She hit the ground, with a moan and The Abomination thought it heard one of her ribs snap.

Good. She should have known better.

It turned back to Ashka and saw that she was pointing her spear at it, even as she crawled backward across the ground, one arm dead weight.

Her expression was one of rage, not fear. "I have seen worse beasts than you." She claimed. "Now calm down, or suffer the consequences."

She talked too much, as well. The Abomination grabbed her spear and snapped it. Splinters flew and her expression made it grin.

It would enjoy tearing into her. She was tough and muscular, which would make for a good meal. And it had been so long since it had fed on human flesh…

A bullet cracked against one of The Abomination's horns and it turned to see the murderer crouched, his hand shaking as he fired again. This time, the bullet pinged off The Abomination's forehead. The sensation was of a wasp sting, only slightly more annoying.

It roared and stomped toward him. It would crush his skull and return to its meal, it was tired of distractions.

"DIE!"

The exiled king stabbed it with his broken sword, sending pain ripping through it. He swung again, the flat of his sword smacking against its face and causing it to fall to the ground.

"DIE!"

He raised his sword and slashed it across The Abomination's stomach. "DIE! DIE! DIE!"

The horns retreated, as the poisonous blood hissed against the muddy forest floor and Gavin shrunk two sizes. His hooves melted and split into toes. He was crying poison and bleeding worse, but his own pain wasn't his concern. After a lifetime of torture, pain became as routine as eating.

What concerned the tiny, chained man were his surroundings. Gavin's eyes finally saw what he'd done and his ears finally heard the screams of the people who had fled. Percy, with blood all over his face and a cut beneath the awful purple of his eye, was desperately trying to wake Ellyn up. Dismas was limping toward them, holding his side.

All the chains finished reforming, and prevented Gavin from scrambling up. The pain reared its head, and instead, he fell back to the ground, now clutching his stomach with one hand, and pressing the other to the ground. A shadow loomed over him, and he was unable to get out of the way as Ballwin raised his sword above his head with a murderous cry.

Ashka ran up to him, grabbing his arm and preventing him from executing Gavin. She stared into his black, hateful eyes, and begged him to stop because the ordeal was over. He shoved her aside, but Gavin was now running on all fours, into the woods.

Ballwin roared at the sight, and turned his rage on the barbarian, bellowing straight in her face. "Heathen! You have permitted the half-demon escape!"

Ballwin's vision was still full of swaying reflections and dancing illusions, his pain not as strong as his euphoria. To him, her dirty fur was now alive and growling at her. The tattoos across her forearms and cheeks were crying.

"He is not a monster, and you know that!" She replied, still clutching her bad arm. Looking him in the eye was physically painful, considering the torn, rotting flesh that glared back.

But she would not relinquish.

Ballwin growled and turned away. "This is what transpires when we tolerate lunatics in our company…" He murmured as he marched in the direction he'd come from.

 **[0]**

Pain. There was little more than pain as he knelt beneath a dying tree. Just like him, it had been hollowed by the corruption of the manor, and now writhed with parasites.

Gavin clutched his bleed chest as the rain pelted the top of his head. Droplets ran down his horns and dripped off, splashing against his scalp. He stared at his hand. The skin was still reddish, and his veins still gleamed, though his feet were not yet horns and his face was not quite so long.

He bellowed, clutching his face. He had spent the night out here, in the wild, too exhausted and wounded to crawl any further away from civilization. When he had awoken, he had found himself changed in the middle of sleep.

This was not uncommon, often when Gavin had a nightmare about that night (the one when everything changed), he would awaken, half a mile away from his resting spot. Once he had woken up, having pinned a farmer's wife to the ground, ready to tear off her head.

This was the first time that he'd been unable to completely morph back.

Gavin forced himself to his feet, his chains restricting his movement but still allowing him to grab a nearby branch and pull himself up. Gavin stumbled in the direction of the voices. They were echoed and nonsensical in his sharp pointed ears, leaving him even further disorientated.

He pushed through the brush, waiting to beg for help.

Two children glanced up at him, one wearing a crown of woven weeds, and the other holding a sling. They had been tossing stones across the river that ran nearby, he realized. They screamed and ran, the girl forgetting her crown and the boy diving through the thick reeds nearby.

Gavin tried to call out to them, but all that came was another wail. He slipped in the mud and fell backward. The ground above the bank of the river crumbled, and he crashed onto the wet sand.

"Gavin! Gavin!"

Someone was calling him, up above. He closed his eyes and the image of the Leper's face returned to mind. He sat up, back against the ledge, hoping that he was well enough hidden to avoid detection.

Better that he bled to death out here. Better that then to find his way back to town, only to lose control of himself. Better to take the demon with him, then to one day join the legions of whatever terrible entity that lived beneath the manor.

"Gavin!"

He looked to the up and saw Ashka, standing on the edge of the cliff.

"Do not move! I will be down there in a moment!" She called sternly, her arm in a cast.

Do not worry. Gavin thought as he watched her disappear. I do not have anywhere to be.

He lay against the muck, as she ran down the beach and crouched beside him.

"We need to get you back to The Hamlet." She stated, on inspecting his wounds.

Gavin shook his head.

"Look, I am not arguing about this with you. I do not care what you have inside you, you are part of our army and we do not leave our warriors behind. Not now…" Ashka slid her working arm around him, and, despite the weight of the chains on him, she pulled Gavin to a stand. "…not ever."

Gavin hated himself, even more, for forcing a crippled woman to assist him. He glanced at her, not even realizing that his monstrous features had receded when he saw her.

"You have really forgiven me?" He asked, his voice hoarse and surprised.

"Alongside my battle sisters, I used to drink the nectar of the gods. The Bursurrik herb." Ashka stated. "Sometimes, we would be unable to tell each other apart from the enemy. Sometimes, we didn't need the herb to hurt each other…we goaded one another into proving honor and strength."

As she limped up the hill, she continued. "What happened, was as much our fault, as it was yours."

Gavin couldn't stop imagining that rotting face of the exiled king. But he nodded, because the thought of being difficult right now, would make him even greater of an intolerable lout.

 **[0]**

Gavin collapsed of blood an hour later. Ashka sat beside him, making a fire to alert the others as to their whereabouts.

It worked, perhaps too well.

Three bandits, each covered in the same green. Each with black eyes that glittered with an unspoken voice.

"Pretty ladies and their injured comrades, should not be wanderin' around in the forest." Said the first, as he loaded his blunderbuss.

"Vvulf is going to be real happy wit' us." Said the second, in a thick local accent as he scraped his blades together. "Real happy."

"We could have some fun with the pretty lady before we bring their bodies to Vvulf." Suggested the third, as he removed his blades from his sheaths.

There was something wrong with them. They spoke as if husks of their former selves. Their desire for gold, bloodshed and the pleasures of the flesh were all second to their goal. They were remnants of who they had been before their leader's mind was consumed by the same thing which had brought the realm to its knees.

"Leave us be or suffer greatly," Ashka warned.

"What say we slit her friend's throat and stuff her muzzle so that she can't scream?" The first asked as he cocked his gun.

Ashka slapped the third across the face with their spear when he tried to approach from behind. The second charged, and she stabbed the spear forward with her one arm. It slid through his flesh, and he didn't get a chance to scream before he was limp corpse.

The first fired, and Ashka ducked out of the way, in time for the second to bring his short-sword to her throat.

She closed her eyes, preparing for the sharp pain and admittance to Valhalla.

SHUNK!

Something struck the ground beside her. She opened her eyes to see it was the cutthroat's head. The first scrambled to reload his weapon, but by the time he had, Ballwin had marched up to him and taken him by the throat. He choked, kicked, and then Ballwin dropping him.

The dark red on Ballwin's sword stained his coat as he brought the weapon to its sheath on his back. Then he offered a bandaged hand to Ashka.

She took it, without hesitation.

"My apologies for my earlier rashness." He stated, without meaning it.

Ashka nodded and watched as he picked up Gavin and slung him over his shoulder. "Not a word of this to the others." He warned, sticking one of his fingers in her face for emphasis.

Again, she nodded. She followed him back to town, the two of them silent.


	4. Hopeless

**Hopeless**

 _Rated M_

 _Characters: Vestal, Antiquarian, Crusader, Highwayman_

* * *

The skeleton captain grinned as it swung its sword at Reynauld. It stood between the holy night, a skeleton in noble clothes, and a female cultist. Reynauld reeled from the hit, and Junia raised her mace toward the ceiling, muttering a prayer. Light enveloped Reynauld and his cuts began to return to normalcy.

The undead noble dove at her thrusting his crusted, unholy goblet at her. The wine inside hissed against her skin, but worse, she felt the pull of the alcohol, which the noble had felt in life. He was sharing what remained of his soul with her, in a horrific, jerk towards insanity.

Reynauld raised her sword to cleave the skeleton, but before he could bring it down, the cultist raised her scepter, and a red hole tore in the air. An eldritch appendage leashed out of the hole and slammed into the crusader, sending him crashing into Dismas and Katharine. The skeleton captain loomed over them, and Katharine rose a hand over her face to protect herself from his saber.

The sword would decapitate the archeologist, without a doubt.

Junia dove forward, and raised her mace above her head. "RETURN TO YOUR GRAVE, UNHOLY WARRIOR!" She commanded as she crushed the front of the skeleton's face.

Its deteriorated saber fell, clinking against the stone floor of the ruins, as the skeleton's jaw collapsed and cracks spread across it's skull. Stunned, it reached to pick up its sword, while the cultist laughed at Junia. She raised her scepter again, and the air grew chill.

Junia's rage, her faith in the Light, shrunk. Her armor suddenly felt heavier and she wondered how she had ever raised her mace above her head. The cultist was laughing, but the sound wasn't echoing off the walls of the tunnel. It was invading Junia's mind.

The longer that she listened the laughter, the longer she realized how hollow it was. The human was nothing more than a conduit, and now Junia was exposed to all the whispering that was constantly occurring in the cultist's head.

The skeleton noble cackled and threw more acidic wine on her. It hissed against her armor and made her hands begin to shake. The pull was even stronger now, to indulge, to sleep, to forget.

All the tension left her body, and her fear dissolved. She had expected these creatures would attempt to cause fear in her heart, but the result of their dreadful features was much different.

So, what if she died? They all would before this task was complete.

"Why does everyone hate me? Even the mother superior..." Junia muttered. The question was so much more important than all this, than remaining unharmed. But she knew the answer, she was just trying to distract herself.

She let go of her mace, and it rolled across the ground. All this, was just a distraction from why her life had led to this moment. From the reason that the Light had abandoned her.

The skeleton captain recovered, and Dismas pulled her out of the way. "Now ain't the time to get philosophical, Sister." He stated as the undead guard swung through empty air and hissed at him.

He brought out his pistol and shot the creature right in the face, shattering its skull.

Junia watched the skeleton crumple and turned her eyes to Dismas. "Even someone as destitute of spirit as you, refuses the Light. Why?"

Dismas paused, startled by her question almost as much as he was by her expression.

The cultist laughed and summoned another appendage. This one wrapped around Junia and yanked her forward, sending Dismas sprawling to the side. Reynauld flattened the skeletal noble with his sword, only to be knocked over by the rushing flesh.

The cultist laughed as the tentacle constricted Junia's neck. _"Soon enough…"_ The acolyte stated, as the muscle caused Junia to gag. _"…you will see your creator for what it truly is."_

Katharine stabbed the cultist in the stomach with her crude knife, pausing the mad-woman's shrieking laughter. The tentacle went slack and dropped Junia to the ground. The cultist reached out to grab Katharine, her expression hidden by her brass skull-shaped helmet.

Katharine pulled her knife out and stepped back, watching the cultist stumble, make some gurgling noises, and then collapse. Red pooled beneath her, as Katharine used Junia's hand to help herself stand. Katharine picked up Junia's mace and handed it to Junia.

Junia glanced at it and then at archeologist, not understanding why she had picked it up for her. She hooked it to her belt regardless and nodded to Katharine.

Reynauld stood Dismas up, pulling the Highwayman's right arm over his shoulders. "Are you wounded, sister?" He called to Junia as he limped Dismas over to them.

Junia didn't answer, and Katharine, moving her knife back into its sheath, taking Junia's open hand and speaking for her. "She is fine. I vote we make camp."

Junia glanced at Katharine, and saw something sad in the other woman's caramel eyes. Why? Why camp? Why not just turn back, while they still had the chance?

Reynauld nodded as he lay Dismas to the ground. "I concur. I will set up the fire…Kathrine, pass out the rations. Sister, perhaps you can heal Dismas."

Dismas shifted on the floor. "I am fine…"

"Quiet." Reynauld said, as he stomped over to Junia and out of Dismas's hearing range. "He is barely able to walk. Please, do what you can."

"Why? He is going to die anyway…" Junia stated as she glanced past Reynauld and at the bloody spot on Dismas's kneecap.

Reynauld stared at her through his visor for a moment. Then he grabbed her by her hood, yanking her off the uneven stone tiles of the Ruins. The torchlight flickered off his marred helmet, making him even more threatening than usual.

"Do your onus, sister, or we will leave you here for the cadavers." He warned.

Tears sprung to Junia's eyes and she nodded weakly. Reynauld dropped her back to the floor, ignoring Katharine and removing from bundle of firewood from their provisions.

Junia bent next to Dismas, and brought out her book. She moved her shaking hand over his kneecap, and started to recite. But her voice was tenuous, and the blessing did not manifest correctly.

Dismas frowned. "What did the Knight-In-Shining Armor tell you? I've never known him to keep secrets."

He spoke as if the two of them had known each other for years. Junia wondered what it felt like to have a friend like that.

Junia wiped her eye and tried again. "Nothing of importance."

Dismas frowned. "You alright? Usually this healing thing doesn't take this long."

Junia began to shake. "Without the willpower…the faith to continue…I am undeserving for the Light to course through my veins. I may as well be trying to sow water."

Dismas gave her a distressed look, and for the first time, she detected pity rather than disdain in his gaze. That was somehow much worse. That someone as disturbed and tortured as he could still find pity for her.

Katharine bent beside her, and placed her censer between Dismas's knees. She muttered some words in a dead language, and green smoke hissed out of the censer. It circled Dismas's leg, and the cuts began to fade.

She removed a cloth from the folds of her dress and wiped off the blood, as Dismas stood up and smirked. She turned to Junia and offered her rations. "Here, eat something…it will make you feel better."

Junia looked away. "There's no point." She responded.

Katharine sighed. She put down her rations and set up her tent. Then she returned to Junia and took her by the hand.

"Pigheaded martyrs." Katharine muttered, as she pulled the vestal into her tent. She set down her cleanser, and opened her bag, removing strange powders and entering them into the censer, one pinch at a time.

She shoved the food back into Junia's hands, and sat down across from her. Junia was about to protest, but the incense reached her nostrils by then. She closed her eyes, and felt her exhaustion transform into a dull hum in the back of her mind.

Junia ate her rations slowly. Later, she would not remember finishing eating or lying down. She did remember Katharine placing pillow beneath her head and sitting across from her.

 **[0]**

Junia was never late to anything. She had read the scriptures until she scarcely needed the book in her hands. She was tidy and diligent, and she could feel how much the other nuns hated her.

She was the person who was always thinking about whether something was against the Tenets of the Light. None of the others had wanted to accompany her to the village that was down the hill from their convent. Nobody told jokes around her, afraid that she might snitch on them.

She had only fit in once, and that was when the warrior vestals visited their convent, on their way to the battlefields. They were as stubborn and dogged as she. They weren't soft or feminine in their mannerisms, and they commended her on her devotion to the Tenets.

It had been winter when Junia had joined their cause.

She had again visited the village, to try and convert the destitute and plagued. It had been snowing, leaving only the desperate on the streets. The rats hadn't minded the snow, as they had scattered from her sandals.

Junia had been reciting from her tome, when she saw the woman and the baby, lying in the alley. The mother had been diseased before the frost finally took her. Her face had been swollen with boils and her lips had been covered in crusted blood.

The mother's child lay cradled in her arms, wrapped in a lice-infested rag. The baby had been a girl. Her skin had turned blue, to match her mother. Maggots had already set in.

After that, Junia had left for the war front. She had been given her mace, and trained to use her tome for much different purposes. She had smote the unrepentant and the wretched. She had healed the crusading aberrations who had entered the war in hope that their devotion would cure them of their disfigurements.

The Light had never cured any of them. Just as it had not shown upon that woman and her baby, because the mother had not sought the Light. Just as Junia had been too late to protect the child, because she had not been strong enough, fast enough, sure enough.

She had believed The Light had called her to this place to snuff out the darkness. But she was no better than the cutthroat or the heretic or the madwoman. The Light had brought them all here, to die. To die in some horrible manner, to join the filth of the worst place it could create.

This train of thought was only eased slightly when Junia's group retreated from the Ruins and returned to the Hamlet and when she spent a week at the Sanitarium. Though Junia had been strapped down and exposed to scientific procedures she had little belief in, she had cared too light to resist their questionable treatments. The treatment restored her faith at least, if it failed to remove the inkling of sorrow within her.

But when she exited the gates of the clinic, to find Katharine waiting for her, Junia had smiled. Katharine hadn't said anything, besides asking Junia to walk with her to the Tavern. Junia agreed to do so.

Even better, Katharine was happy to learn about the scriptures, which was the only thing Junia really knew how to talk about. She was especially eager to learn about Junia's vow of celibacy.

 **[0]**

 _Katharine watched as her master fell to the ground, and removed her dagger from his back. She watched as his soul released, bound to the incense burner he had used to summon spirits in front of her._

 _She turned her eyes to the young girl tied in front of the fire. The girl who her master was about to murder to his deranged god, so that he might receive greater power._

 _The girl looked shocked, then relieved at Katharine's actions. Then she rose her eyes from the corpse of the master and saw the cold look in Katharine's eyes._

 _Katharine needed that power. Without it, she would never be able to contact that deranged god. Without the deranged god, she'd never be able to resurrect her lover._

 _She raised the knife and ended the life of the girl as quickly and painlessly as she could. She wiped the knife off on a rag, as her incense burner glowed blue with surging energy._

 _As it turned out from her master's notes (most of which were rambling madness), two virgins needed to be sacrificed. One in the city of bronze that Katharine had lived in, and one, close to the darkness that slept beneath the gate of the universe._


	5. Weakness

**Weakness**

 **Rated M**

 **Characters: Bounty Hunter, Hound master**

As he sat in the corner of the tavern, Tardif couldn't help but notice where they faltered. Their flaws were obvious to him, even if they were not to each other (or themselves).

The nun was talking with the merchant, laughing about something. The nun was too trusting. She'd be easy to lure into a trap. The merchant was the weakest among them, one strike to the back of the head and she'd fall.

The highwayman was gambling with the crusader and the veteran. Dismas had a bad left ankle. Duck to the right, strike him in the face. Reynauld was a heavy sleeper, easy for his throat to be slit. Barrister had of course, a bad eye. Low depth perception.

The leper's mask was held on mostly by traction. Application of force could remove it easily. Not that Tardif would need know that. By his estimation, the brute had two or three weeks before his body finally gave out.

The plague doctor's mask left her sun-deprived. Remove the mask and she would be blind as a bat. The nihilist was too curious for his own good. The barbarian was still recovering from breaking her arm, but Tardif had engineered an end for her before she had encouraged the abomination to attack her.

Slip some toxin in the herbs that she used and she would poison herself until her body was too weak to fight.

"Why do you do this?" Mortimer asked, sitting down in front of him and blocking his view of where the grave robber was flirting with the fool.

Tardif didn't respond, choosing instead to return his attention to the solitaire game in front of him. He wasn't interested in conversing with the lawman. They were always the naive sort.

"You just sit here…watching everyone like they're your enemies." Mortimer said, as he offered a treat to his hound.

Tardif sighed. He wasn't going to leave until Tardif alienated him.

"Your dog." Tardif answered, as he moved a queen to a jack.

"What?"

"Kill the dog and your defenseless. Or, I could kill you and then your dog would be defenseless." Tardif answered, still without looking up.

Mortimer stared at him for a long time. Tardif expected a "what's wrong with you!?" or "fuck you!" Instead, Mortimer put a hand on the table.

"Why do you do this?" He asked in a low voice. "I don't understand. You depend on us, and we on you. Why do you try and push us away?"

Tardif raised his gaze and then adjusted his helm. "How long do you think it'll be before one of us goes off our rocker?"

Mortimer frowned. He glanced back at the others, and then at Tardif. By then, however, Tardif had stood up and moved to the exit. He stood outside, his back against the wall, his eyes on the black forest that surrounded the Hamlet.

The Heir was standing beside the old gypsy's coach, selling some of the junk that his mercenaries had collected. Nobody used The Heir's real name, for it was as cursed as The Estate. Nobody commented either, except in whispers, that he resembled the last heir to an eerie degree.

Tardif wasn't superstitious, and had not believed in ghosts and ghoulies before taking this job. He had tired of chasing down those undeserving of their fate and dragging them to their executors. He had also exhausted every possible ally thanks to his growing restlessness, something that The Heir and The Caretaker had known when they met.

The Heir had offered room and board, a larger salary than Tardif had ever received, and glory (with all "medical expenses" included). He had warned Tardif that he'd be facing supernatural foes. Tardif expected it would be a "fun" job, considering that not only would he not be doing it alone, but that drinks and pleasures of would be "provided."

Tardif had been wrong. Being in the Hamlet was even more depressing than fighting the monsters that had infested The Estate. Tardif was beginning to understand where the lunatics and cultists in this place were coming from.

The Heir turned away from the gypsy inside the cart, thanking her and pocketing the gold she'd given him. He spotted Tardif and grinned, waving. Tardif waved back, sarcastically. If the Heir noticed, he didn't show it, instead walking off toward the Blacksmith.

The Heir was strong, quick on his feet, and handsome. There was no flaw in his regal features. Either he would lead them all to glory, or he would reign in the hell of their failure. Tardif seemed to be the only one to see this. None of the others noticed or cared how terrified the locals were of the Heir.

Tardif watched as The Heir skulk off as he listened to the others laugh, drink, and cheer. The stars that filled the sky should have been beautiful, but they were cold and empty.


	6. New Guy

**New Guy**

 _Rated: T_

 _Characters: Flagellant, Jester, Grave-Robber, Occultist, Crusader, Heir_

* * *

"Where might be the owner of this place?"

Percy looked up from a card-game, Alhazred and Ellyn joining in staring at the stranger. A tall man, wearing no tunic, the bottom half of a cloak wrapped around his legs, and a bloody sheet wrapped around his face, with strips of it dangling down his chest. He had hundreds of scars across his chest and along with his arms, and Percy wondered, as he stared at the bloody spots on the sheet, where the man's eyes must have been.

He held a flail in his right hand, the metal links dragging across the bar floor.

Ellyn raised a hand and gestured toward the door. "He ought to be in the Guild…'cross town."

The man nodded and thanked them. He had a voice like boots on gravel, and every breath sounded like it was painful for him to take.

Percy shivered. "You would not suppose…that we are going to have to work with that fellow, do you?"

Alhazred watched the man leave. "Why else would he be here? We are all drawn by the power beneath the soil."

Percy and Ellyn gave him a look.

Ellyn shrugged and leaned back in her seat. "I would not bet against the notion. We share ranks already with a leper and a half-demon."

"Who was that man?" Reynauld asked, walking over to them from the bar. In his left hand, he held a mug of ale in his left hand and kept his other hand on his scabbard.

"Did I not introduce you two yet? That was my uncle Mortin." Percy said.

Reynauld gave him a withering glare, and Percy smirked as Ellyn tittered.

"I should have known better than to ask you _buffoons_ ," Reynauld admitted, sounding disappointed in himself.

Ellyn coughed. "We do not know him…he was looking for The Heir…"

Alhazred leaned back in his seat. "A flagellant. A follower of _your_ creed if I'm not erroneous."

Reynauld narrowed his eyes. "Do not lump me in with the likes of him."

Percy grinned beneath his mask. "Why? He seemed like an upright guy."

Reynauld turned back to him and took a couple steps so that he was looming over him. "He is part of a sect of the church, known as the Red Circle. They believe that by mutilating themselves they can access the abilities of The Light. It is heresy and must not be tolerated."

Ellyn raised an eyebrow. "And that is inferior to your kind believing you can make the world a better place by ransacking some country in the desert?"

If Reynauld heard her, he did not show it. Instead, he stood, downed his mug, and placed it on the counter as he walked out the front door of the bar, mumbling curses.

 **[0]**

The Heir had just finished his conversation with Damian when Reynauld marched up to him.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Reynauld asked as he pointed toward Damian.

"He's here to help." The Heir answered, not in the least phased by this reaction, and only showing the slightest disappointment.

"We don't need _assistance_ from the likes of him," Reynauld said, his body shaking.

The Heir raised an eye-brow. "Junia and Ballwin accepted him without qualms. Where is this coming from?"

Reynauld tightened his grip on the handle of his sword. "I have watched his kind charge into battle. They make for little more than fodder on the battle-field, and they lower morale."

The Heir sighed. "Are you aware of the rumors regarding the courtyard?"

Reynauld shook his head.

"A terrible plague has beset the marsh, and now it is our job to cleanse it before it spreads to the rest of the world." The Heir stated. "We cannot afford to be selective about our new recruits."

"But-!"

"Damian has defended the temples of the Red Circle for years. He claims to have left of his own accord." The Heir stated. "Now, unless you have any genuine problems with his arrival, I must ask that you cease wasting my time with your petty disputes."

Reynauld leaned into the Heir's face. "Your lack of principles will be your own undoing…" He informed his employer, before stomping back out of the Guild.

The Heir watched him go and sighed.


End file.
